


Open Like the Ocean (Cold and Numb)

by mercurybard



Series: Hellboy AU [2]
Category: Bandom, Hellboy - All Media Types, The Cab
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: Adrenaline crashing from a B.P.R.D. raid to a hotel bed on tour





	Open Like the Ocean (Cold and Numb)

The tour manager (new guy since the Cobras had stolen Danny away for the summer) had tossed him a key to the hotel room where Marshall and Singer were already sleeping. The party was in the other room—Johnson, Ian, and some of the dudes from Steel Train—but he just wasn’t in the mood. Might have something to do with the plane ride from Hell back from the Philippines on a C-17 that had seen better days. Toeing off his shoes, he collapsed on the bed beside Marshall. It dipped towards the middle, so he rolled with it and ended up spooning against Alex’s back.

Marshall grunted and tugged Cash’s arm tighter over his chest. “You smell like fireworks and sewage.”

“Try gunpowder and Filipino fish monsters.” There’d been actually muskets that shot actual musket balls, and one of them had torn a round hole in Kate’s upper arm when she’d been caught out in the middle of the room with only a waterlogged armchair for cover. Blood had spattered up across her pale face and then trickled down, turning pink as it mixed with the water leaking in from under the old pre-World War II mansion’s foundation. Hellboy had stood up then—letting out an animal roar that rattled Cash down to his toes—and charged at the fucking fish-people. Muskets apparently made good clubs in the hands of a pissed-off demon. 

Last he’d seen Kate, she’d been on a gurney in LA, being hustled into surgery. She still wore the makeshift bandages Abe had ripped from Cash’s Glamour Kills shirt. The neon looked obscene with the dark brown-red stains of blood soaking through it. He’d wanted to stay and pace the sterile waiting room until she came back out, but Liz had insisted he take the next plane out to Kansas City to catch up with the tour. “You’ve got a life outside this freak show—you’ve got to hold onto that with everything you’ve got.” Liz’s small, self-deprecating half-smile had made a knot swell up in his throat. 

A voicemail had been waiting for him when he got off the plane, letting him know that the surgery had gone fine. The doctors said she’d be back in the pool as soon as the stitches were out. 

“Whatever. You still reek.” 

Like he needed telling—he could smell himself, thanks—but instead of getting up to go use the shower, he just burrowed in closer to Marshall’s back. His nose was smashed in between Alex’s shoulder blades, and every time he breathed, the soap-clean smell of Marshall’s skin washed over him. He let out a shuddering breath.

Marshall ran one of his long-fingered hands over the cuff on Cash’s wrist. “This is new.”

“Kate gave it to me,” Cash mumbled into Marshall’s skin. Suddenly, he didn’t feel too tired to sleep. Amazing what getting horizontal could do.

“Oh really.” His tone was light, but Cash could feel the muscles in his back tighten.

With a groan, Cash pulled Marshall over onto his back, so he was half-crushed beneath him, one arm snaked under the other dude’s neck. “See this medallion thing,” he said, tapping the silver oval set into the middle of the cuff with his now-free hand. “It’s got a little bit of dirt from a Vegas gas station inside. She and Abe thought that maybe if I keep a little bit of home with me all the time, then my luck won’t go to crap every time I’m outside the city limits.” 

Marshall rubbed his thumb over the medallion. “Does that even make sense?”

“To them, yeah.” He chewed on his lip as Marshall’s fingers moved from the cuff to his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles across his palm. Cash was so tired that even that tiny touch was too much. “And, hey, bro, no musket ball holes in me.”

Marshall rolled out of his arms only to crawl back on top of him. His stupid emo bangs flopped down over his eyes as he looked down at Cash. The look he was getting from the pianist was intense, like Marshall was trying to say something with just his eyes. Probably some shit about being careful and not dying and how musket ball holes were bad, which, yeah, Cash understood and Marshall knew that he understood. But this was them, so saying it out-loud would be lame. So, the staring. 

Cash yawned.

Marshall sighed and leaned down, brushing a kiss across Cash’s lips. “Fucker.”

He smirked. “That’s me.”


End file.
